


Nostalgia Really Sucks

by emptyskv



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gay, M/M, Really Super Gay, Really angsty too, SO GAY, Stucky - Freeform, Stucky forever, stucky angst, stucky fluff, stucky smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-01
Updated: 2016-02-01
Packaged: 2018-05-17 01:36:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5848867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emptyskv/pseuds/emptyskv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve knows that he shouldn't laugh about the situation. It wasn't funny, at all. Or, was it? He just thought it was so damn ironic that he had spent all of this time taking care of Bucky and chasing him down and trying to save him, and now, he was going to die for it. If only nostalgia wasn't a thing, maybe?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nostalgia Really Sucks

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first try at writing angst, so if you could maybe not crucify me if the story is in any way grammatically incorrect, or incorrect in facts or in character descriptions, that would be great. Enjoy! XD

   Steve Rogers was jolted awake by the feel of a cold metal object being pressed against his neck. He slowly opened his eyes, knowing what he would see once he did, and knowing not to make any sudden movements.

   He sadly sighed as he looked into the eyes of James ‘Bucky’ Barnes. Written there was a splattering of emotions; confusion, forced cruelty, and terror, which he was trying hard to hide.

   “Who are you?” Bucky asked, his voice rough and unsteady, the human hand that held the knife at Steve’s throat shaking slightly, although his face was a mask of calm.

   “Bucky,” Steve groaned, his voice thick with sleep and emotion, his blonde hair ruffled and in disarray, the sheets tangled around his legs the only thing preserving his modesty. “It’s me…it’s Steve…C’mon, let’s not do this tonight….just come back to bed…Bucky, please.” His tone was pleading and pathetic, even to him, but he couldn’t help it. It had been over a month since Bucky had had a relapse, and Steve had hoped they were over.

   But Bucky refused to snap out of it.

   “Am I supposed to kill you?” Bucky asked, trying to hide his growing panic. “Is that why I’m here?”

   A bitter laugh bubbled up in Steve’s throat as he pondered that question, but it quickly died as Bucky removed the knife from his throat, grabbed him by his hair, and slammed his head into the wooden headboard of the bed with a resounding crack. Then the knife bit back into the skin of his throat.

   Steve groaned and squeezed the bridge of his nose with his hand. He found it rather puzzling that something that felt so good only hours before could hurt him so much now, especially when done by the same person. Different situation, he figured.

   _Way_ different.

   “Goddamn.” He muttered, wincing as Bucky once against pulled him up by his hair.

   “Answer me!” Bucky said loudly, his face schooled into an unfeeling mask, his dark brown hair smashed in on one side and sticking up on the other, weariness apparent in his eyes, his entire body glistening with a thin sheen of sweat, and his black boxer briefs tight and leaving little to the imagination.

   Steve was silent for a moment, his thoughts evident on his face. He was trying to figure out the best way to not die, as tiny drops of blood trickled from the wound in his throat, staining the white sheets crimson.

   “To answer your question,” Steve said, trying to hide the fact that his heart was beating out of his chest, “No, you’re not supposed to kill me. That would be bad.”

   “Then why am I here?” Bucky asked, speaking in an emotionless, yet skeptical tone.

   “Well,” Steve said, “You live here.” He waited with bated breath, hoping that this statement wouldn’t be met badly. When Bucky was having an episode, there was no telling the things that would set him off.

   But, Bucky only looked around the room, a grim smile on his face, ”Yeah, right. I know where I live, and it’s not a place this nice.”

   Steve’s heart sank when he said that, because the room was very sparsely furnished, with only a bed and nightstand, and it seemed dinghy and abandoned, the paint peeling off the walls and the mirror in the corner cracked. Bucky had never really told him about the years that he had spent living among the Germans that had used him as a lab rat and an assassin, but Steve had guessed that it hadn’t been pleasant. Here was proof of that now.

   “Okay,” Steve said, trying to stop thinking about _that_ particular subject,” Well, do you know who I am?”

   Bucky narrowed his eyes at him, and Steve thought that he saw a flicker of something in their depths, recognition maybe? But, in the next second it was gone, making Steve wonder if it had ever really been there.

   “Nope,” Bucky said, a slight frown on his face, but a tone of finality to his voice,” I don’t know who you are.”

   “Well,” Steve said, disappointed, although he hadn’t been expecting much from that, “Do you know who _you_ are?”

If Steve’s intent had been to rattle, it worked. Bucky rocked back on his heels, removing the knife from Steve’s throat. His mechanical arm reached up to rub his real arm, which was bare, as though he were trying to warm up. The gesture made him seem vulnerable and scared, in need of protecting. It was a foolish thought to have, Steve reflected, as in the next moment, the vulnerable look was gone from Bucky’s face, and he regained his cold composure.

“I don’t go by any names,” Bucky said, his voice steady, ”What I’m called doesn’t matter. I am nothing. It only matters what I can do for those who require my services. I am a tool at their disposal.”

Steve had been putting up with these relapses for 14 months, and the entire time that they had been happening, he had been compassionate and patient. Hell, he’d almost bled out whenever Bucky had stabbed him, because he wouldn’t fight back, he wouldn’t even push the panic button that Tony had installed for that very reason because he hadn’t wanted Bucky to be frightened and angry and take out the Avengers if they came bursting through the door.

Now, though, Steve was pissed. He was beyond pissed, he was furious. And he was itching for a fight.

“NO!” Steve yelled loudly, surging up off the bed, not caring that he was naked, not caring that he probably about to die for telling the most dangerous assassin in the world the word ‘no’, “You are _not_ nothing. You are not just a tool at people’s disposal. You are a real life honest to god living and breathing person. I don’t _care_ if you have one arm made of metal and are messed up by whatever the fuck those German pricks did to you. _I don’t care_ about what you’ve done in your past. You’re the love of my life, and I refuse to let you keep living like this! Whatever happened, whatever you did, _it was not your fault._ So, stop punishing yourself. Stop trying to get back into your old life, where you didn’t even know who the fuck you were and where you didn’t have control of anything that you did. Instead, there’s a life here with people who really fucking care about you, okay? So, what are you going to do about it?”

As he yelled, Steve had kept moving closer and closer to Bucky, only stopping when the two were mere inches away from each other. Bucky looked confused but pissed, like he wanted to kill someone but also curl up in a ball and just not be who he was anymore. Steve was furious, but he was sad about what he knew was coming next.

The blow that Steve was waiting for came across his face, but not, he noticed, with Bucky’s metal arm. Then another came, and then another, a brutal scream ripping out of Bucky’s throat on the last hit.

Steve stepped back with each blow, grunting as he stumbled back into the wall and slid down it. He looked up at Bucky, not even attempting to shield his body or defend himself at all. His heart hurt more than his face, and he had the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. The throbbing of his eye and cheek indicated that he would have a nasty bruise in the morning.

Bucky stood over Steve, breathing heavily, the fiery look of anger fading from his eyes as he gazed down on Steve’s bloody face.

“C’mon Buck, you know me.” Steve said, his voice tinged with sadness. “Don’t look at the reality you see. Look at the one that you know is there. The one where you know me and you know yourself. Even if you refuse to remember me or who you were, even if you don’t _want_ to know me or yourself.” Steve’s voice dropped to a whisper, but his gaze stayed steadily on Bucky’s, “Even if you leave and never come back and lose yourself in who you were, when you didn’t _know_ who you were, I’ll stay with you, ‘cause I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

Bucky’s face went through a kaleidoscope of emotions within a matter of seconds, from shock, confusion, terror, a heart wrenching guilt, desperation, and finally, a steely look of nothing.

“Steve,” Bucky said, taking a step back.

Steve sighed in relief, wincing as he slowly got up from his position sitting on the wall, ”Yeah, Buck?” He asked, taking a tentative step towards Bucky.

Bucky took another step back, and would’ve kept going had he not hit his bed with his legs. He slowly slid down it, his eyes never leaving Steve’s, a hungry gleam in them. His human hand was slightly shaking, and when he saw Steve looking, he clenched it into a fist and put it behind his back.

Steve knelt by him and pulled it out again, splaying out the finger and gently kissing the knuckles, “You don’t have to hide from me.” Steve said, wistfully smiling at Bucky, “You know that.”

Bucky didn’t smile, although his expression became a little less tense.

“But you have to hide from me.” Bucky said, almost phrasing it like a question.

“No.” Steve said, moving around to crouch in front of Bucky, grasping both of his shoulders, his thumbs tracing circles on the muscles there, “I won’t hide from you. I mean, look at me.” He bitterly laughed, letting go of the sergeant to gesture down at his naked body. “I _can’t_ hide from you. Not matter how much I’ve tried. You’ve always known.”

“Known what?” Said Bucky, seemingly almost in a trance his gaze slowly traveling up and down Steve’s body appreciatively, before finally stopping at his face.

Steve’s gaze never wavered, although he did blush a bit as he noticed the attention that he was being given. He could feel himself involuntarily leaning in, and he knew the moment was coming as Bucky grasped his arms. “My soul,” and then they were kissing.

Bucky spread his legs, grabbing Steve roughly by the hips and dragging himself between them. Steve slid his legs under Bucky’s and scooted forward until Bucky was sitting in his lap, his legs around his waist, all the while their lips locked.

Although Steve could kiss Bucky every day, he thought that there was something a bit off about this kiss. He couldn’t place it though, not until he tried to gain access to the other man’s mouth.

 _It’s his kissing,_ he suddenly realized, knowing that he was right.

Since Steve _did_ spend so much of his time kissing Bucky, he knew what it felt like, how their lips always moved in synch, how Bucky always clutched at him like he would never be able to find him again if he let go. This time though, Bucky’s hands were clenched and resting on Steve’s shoulders. His lips moved mechanically, not even trying to work with Steve’s. He was hard, Steve could feel that much. But, there wasn’t any passion, no spark, and no life.

 _It’s like kissing a corpse,_ Steve silently decided, _a corpse that automatically kisses back and has no idea how to kiss._ And then, since Steve was decidedly against necrophilia, he pulled away.

Bucky let his hands fall to his side, looking at him without emotion as Steve leaned farther away. He slid his legs out from underneath Bucky and scooted backwards until he was sitting in front of him, his legs crossed.

“Look, Buck,” Steve sighed, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, “As much as I want to kiss you, I know that you’re just using me as a distraction.”

Bucky leaned back against the foot of the bed, looking steadily into Steve’s eyes and betraying nothing that he was thinking, “Is that what you know? Well, then, what do you say we do?”

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but, before he could, the door cracked open from across the bed. Both he and Bucky whipped their heads towards the door as Tony poked his head in and averted his eyes from Steve.

Tony seemingly decided something to himself, as he nodded and then mumbled something along the lines of, ”The yelling stopped and we were worried, so they sent me to make sure you hadn’t killed each other, but you’re good.” He then backed out and quickly shut the door.

Bucky turned back towards Steve, saying nothing, while Steve raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

When Bucky still showed no emotion and said nothing, Steve sighed again and said, “I think we should talk through this, maybe?”

Bucky looked down at his hands, before quickly nodding and looking back up at Steve. ”You want to talk? Fine, let’s talk. I’m leaving.”

Steve immediately felt a wave of fear and anxiety come up in his mind, and he quickly tried to put it down. He fought to keep his voice as steady and level as Bucky’s as he said, ”You’re leaving? What do you mean you’re leaving?”

“Just what I said, Steve. I’m leaving tonight, and I’m not going to return or try and contact you again.” Bucky looked into Steve’s eyes, speaking slowly and monotonously.

The wave of fear threatened to overwhelm Steve again, but he focused on his anger and ignored it. ”Hell, no, you’re not leaving.” Steve said, the words coming out sharper and louder then he intended them to, although Bucky portrayed no reaction, “There’s no reason for you to.”

“There are a lot of reasons for me to,” Bucky said in a robotic voice, leaning his head backwards against the bed and gazing up at the ceiling. ”It’s the best thing for me to do.”

Steve could deal with a lot of things, but one of them wasn’t losing Bucky again. It hurt worse that Bucky didn’t seem to feel anything over his decision. Suddenly, Steve was furious again, and more than anything, he wanted to provoke _some_ sort of reaction out of Bucky.

“The best thing for you to do would be to stay here,” Steve said, infusing his voice with as much anger as he could without yelling, making Bucky narrow his eyes slightly at him, ”But you’re too embarrassed. I understand that, I guess. You’re too eager to get away, because you’ve been used to being so impersonal, and now here you are, having to actually deal with your emotions, something you haven’t had to do in over 70 years. And it turns out you can’t handle it. So, you’re running away like a coward. It’s selfish of you, if you ask me.” Steve was speaking casually, but his voice was very tight.

“You better watch what you say, especially if you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve was glad to hear a little bit of an edge in Bucky’s voice.

“Oh, I _know_ what I’m talking about. You know me well, but you seem to forget that goes both ways.”

“I’m doing this for you,” Bucky suddenly said, biting off each word like it physically pained him to say this, “I can’t go on like this. I can’t go on hurting you. I can’t do it, and I swear, _I’m doing this for you._ ”

Bucky then got up in one fluid movement, walking by the bed, to where his clothes were lying in a pile on the floor after they had been ripped off of him last night. His gait was slightly off, due to, Steve knew, the weight of his metal arm.

As Bucky reached down for his pants, Steve knew that he had to do _something._ He couldn’t just sit there and watch him leave without trying. So what if it got him killed? He would be dead after Bucky left anyways. There was nothing to be gained without trying. Steve was up off of the floor and behind Bucky before he knew it. As Bucky picked up his pants, Steve grabbed his wrist. Bucky tensed up, but froze in the position that he was in.

“Please don’t.” Steve said, his voice low. He felt bad about what he had said, and he could feel the guilt mixing with the anxiety in his chest.

Bucky finally straightened and turned to face Steve. His emotions seemed to be under control once more, although his eyes gleamed with _something._ What that was, Steve didn’t know.

“Why?” Bucky simply asked after what seemed like an eternity.

“Because,” Steve said, casting around for an answer, and then deciding on the simple truth, “I need you. Yeah, I’m a super-soldier. But you’re what keeps me going. After I was de-iced, I found it hard to find a reason to want to stay alive, you know? I know I was reckless back in Brooklyn, before you got deployed. I know I was. But this, this was different. I was semi-suicidal. I didn’t necessarily want to die, but I found it really hard to find a reason to keep going. Then, you came. You were my reason. You _are_ my reason. And if you leave again, I don’t know if I can honestly say that I’ll survive it again. Seeing you leave, wondering what I could’ve done to stop you. I can’t do it. Please don’t make me.”

“You do know,” Bucky murmured, lowering his eyes to where Steve’s fingers still encircled his wrist, ”What you’re asking of me. Don’t you?”

Steve thought about it. He thought about the way Bucky would punish himself for the way he had been before whenever he didn’t have control over what he did. He thought about the scars encircling the place where the metal met his arm, because he had wanted to cut that part of himself away, because he couldn’t deal with the way it had hurt Steve. He thought about the way Bucky couldn’t even talk to him for days after every episode because he was so racked with guilt. He thought about all of this, and then looked Bucky in the eyes and decided.

“I guess you’re not the only selfish one here. I know what I’m asking.”

“And I mean enough to you for you to ask for it?” Bucky asked dubiously, his breath tickling Steve’s face.

“Well, I am pretty damn selfish.” Steve said, lighting up as the corner of Bucky’s mouth twitched.

Then, not being able to help himself, even though he thought that he really should, Steve stepped forward and hugged him tight, not relaxing until Bucky’s arm slid around him.

Steve was always a bit disappointed at the fact that he was now taller than Bucky, so instead of snuggling up and burrowing his head underneath Bucky’s chin and into his chest, he was the one that was sheltering Bucky. And although he knew that Bucky could take him out any time he wanted to, he also knew that it was really Bucky that needed the feeling of security the most.

Steve bent down and kissed Bucky’s hair, then rested his chin on top of his head,” We’re gonna be alright.” He murmured, squeezing Bucky tighter.

“Aren’t we always?” Bucky asked, pressing himself closer to Steve, and trying his best to burrow his face into his neck.

As an answer, Steve slightly chuckled, his breath stirring Bucky’s hair. He breathed Bucky’s familiar scent in, letting the smell replace all of the fear in his chest with peace. It let him forget, if only for a moment, all his problems. And really, that moment was all he needed.

 


End file.
